


The Miseducation of Eve Polastri

by once_a_potato



Series: I will follow you (into the dark) [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Big Gay Love Story, Endgame Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Soft Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Villanelle, Villaneve, Villaneve is canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24717658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/once_a_potato/pseuds/once_a_potato
Summary: So they walk back. Slowly. They stop at maybe three feet from each other, and it’s the weirdest thing because it’s like they’re two people meeting for the first time. Their glances are shy, four hands fidgeting and two sets of eyes looking at the ground. They look like two idiots, really. Maybe they are.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: I will follow you (into the dark) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811014
Comments: 150
Kudos: 779





	1. THE ONE WITH ALL THE HASTE

_I'm setting fire to the life that I know_

_Let's start a fire everywhere that we go_

_We starting fires,_

_We starting fires till our lives are burning gold_

_Till our lives are burning gold_

_BURNING GOLD - CHRISTINA PERRI_

Tower Bridge has certainly seen its fair share of moments. Declarations of Love, proposals, fights, even suicides. There’s never been a moment though in which a MI5 operative turned MI6 operative turned dumpling maker and a _wannabe_ retired Russian assassin walked away from each other for good just to find out they actually _couldn’t_ walk away from each other.

So they walk back. Slowly. They stop at maybe three feet from each other, and it’s the weirdest thing because it’s like they’re two people meeting for the first time. Their glances are shy, four hands fidgeting and two sets of eyes looking at the ground. They look like two idiots, really. ~~Maybe~~ They are.

Eve talks first, because she’s not accustomed to seeing Villanelle like this, like she doesn’t know what to do with herself, and Eve feels like she’s going to crawl out of her own skin if the moment doesn’t stop _right now_.

“So, what now? The walking away thing didn’t go very well.”

Villanelle’s eyes shoot up, white teeth worrying her bottom lip. It’s like a whole layer crumbled down from her during their thirty seconds attempt to _do the right thing_. But was it really the right thing? Eve asks herself. Was it the right thing when it felt so wrong that she thought she was going to puke, right there, on Tower Bridge? She didn’t puke when she slaughtered Raymond with an axe, she didn’t puke when Dasha pitchforked Niko through the neck, but the thought of never seeing Villanelle again made her whole self ache in a way she never experienced before. So, maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do after all. Eve’s musings are suddenly interrupted when she hears Villanelle talk.

“What do you want to do?” She asks in a small, insecure voice, and God, Eve wants nothing more than wrap her arms around Villanelle and never let go. She doesn’t ever think her next words, they just tumble out of her mouth without any kind of filter.

“Anything that _doesn’t_ involve us never seeing each other again?”

Villanelle smiles then and it’s not her usual confident, cocky smirk. It’s a gentle upturn of lips, like she’s not quite believing what she’s hearing.

“We could walk away _together_ , then. If that’s okay with you. ”

“Like Thelma and Louise?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to do that.”

“People change.”

They’re properly smiling at each other now, with mouth and cheeks and eyes, and it’s so, so good. Eve thinks she’s feeling something very similar to happiness in that moment. She hasn’t felt happiness in a really long time, she realizes.

“We can’t stay in London, it’s too dangerous.” Villanelle is suddenly serious again. “The Twelve will come after us if they already aren’t. We need to run.”

“Wait, why would they be after you? Aren’t you still _supposedly_ working for them?” Eve asks, puzzled. The last she knew Villanelle had earned a promotion, so her job with the Twelve surely was going well? But then she suddenly remembers Villanelle’s words at Paul’s.

_“Helene. Ex-boss. Very toxic workplace.”_

She takes in Villanelle’s suddenly sheepish demeanor.

“What did you do?” Eve asks, voice raising and alarm creeping up.

“Uh, well. I may have resigned in, ah, a spectacular fashion?”

“Oh God. Do I even want to know?” Villanelle winces, and her voice it’s a good three octaves lower than Eve’s when she answers.

“Do you remember the party crasher?”

“The girl in the ballroom?”

“Yes. She asked me to go with her because Helene, the Twelve woman, wanted to see me. I kicked her on the tube rails. While the tube was coming.”

“Oh.” Okay, that sounds a lot like a resignation. That also sounds a lot like they’re really, _really_ in danger now.

“Let’s go then.” Villanelle says, and it all happens really fast from that point.

Villanelle grabs Eve’s hand and starts walking swiftly in the direction the Asian woman was going during their botched attempt at perpetual separation. Eve’s legs are shorter, and she has been feeling so _old and tired_ lately, but in the last 24 hours it’s like new life has been breathed into her. She matches Villanelle’s stride with almost no trouble, her body functioning on adrenaline, and fear, and something else she can’t really understand right now but that just feels so _liberating_.

They reach London Bridge Station without stopping to pick up clothes or anything else because, by now, it’s entirely possible that The Twelve have already raided Villanelle’s room at The Waldorf Hilton, and Eve has been sleeping at Jamie’s for a fortnight now. If she was to present herself at his house with Villanelle in tow he would probably have a stroke right and there.

The worry about their hasty get-away must show on Eve’s face because Villanelle squeezes her hand then, shoots her a small smile and says:

“Don’t worry, I have money with me. I will take care of you.”

It’s funny, really, how things already said in the ruins in Rome now feel so similar, and yet so different. Like in the time it’s passed between the two statements they’ve somewhat acquired a different meaning. A deeper one.

“Did you already know you were going to flee?” Eve asks then, because it downs on her that the mustard colored cape Villanelle is wearing looks _a lot_ like travel attire.

Villanelle stops dead in her tracks and drops Eve’s hand. Eve misses the contact immediately.

“I was supposed to go with Konstantin. To Cuba.” The blonde woman says, her eyes struggling to meet Eve’s. “I changed my mind at the last minute.” She adds.

Eve feels a lot of things then. Betrayal, at first, because _really_ Villanelle was going to go and leave her behind? Then she feels relief, because _obviously_ she wasn’t able to do that, just like Eve. Then she feels sadness, because she realizes that the reason why their encounter in the ballroom (that clumsy, absolutely unskilled attempt at dancing) was filled with so much uncharacteristic vulnerability from Villanelle was because she probably thought that they weren’t going to see each other again. Eve then mentally high fives herself for whatever thing she must have said during that awful waltz because it made Villanelle change her mind about leaving her, and that’s _everything_.

Villanelle must see the cogs whirring in Eve’s brain, because she talks again. Or, she starts rambling.

“I didn’t know…that you would have been willing to come with me. If I had known, I would have made other plans. You did say no to Alaska though, and it was not so long ago, and you attacked me on the bus. Well, okay, you also kissed me on the bus, and we absolutely have to talk about that, but then you also headbutted me so I thought that maybe it was just a diversion move? And then a lot of things happened and we never saw each other again until two days ago, so…”

“Can you shut up for a second?” Eve interjects. It’s brusque, and maybe rude, but it does the trick because Villanelle abruptly stops talking.

Eve takes a breath then, and speaks.

“You don’t have to justify yourself. You said you wanted out, and leaving was the only option available. Given our history, I understand why you would have thought that I didn’t want to come with you. Hell, _I_ didn’t know I wanted to come with you until fifteen minutes ago. So, everything’s fine. Well, not fine _fine_ , since we’re being chased by an International criminal organization and the possibility of being murdered it’s really fucking high, but still. _We_ , are fine.”

Villanelle smiles then, a real smile that takes over her whole face and Eve feels like she’s looking directly into the sun. It’s blinding, and breathtakingly beautiful, and it’s probably going to cost Eve the last crumbles of her sanity but in that exact moment, Eve finds out that she really doesn’t give a damn. Her own smile mirrors the younger woman’s.

“Let’s go then.” Villanelle says, extending her left hand. Eve takes it without second thoughts, and they walk together to the ticket office.

Villanelle is thoughtful for a minute, looks up something on her phone, then speaks to the bored looking woman sat in the cubicle with a perfect cockney accent.

“Excuse me, we would like two tickets for Holyhead.”

“That would be 154.37 pounds.” The lady answer, unfazed.

Villanelle extracts a wad of cash from the pocket of her coat and gives the woman two 100 euro bills. There must be at least a hundred more of them in the roll Eve just saw. Ten thousand euros. Villanelle was walking around with ten thousand euros in her pocket. Eve feels like laughing at the absurdity of it, but that would probably attract unwanted attention from people, so she forces herself to keep her mouth shut.

Villanelle pockets the rest and takes the tickets, giving Eve her own. Then she makes a strange face, rummages again into her pocket and re-takes out the bills. She starts counting.

“What are you doing?” Eve asks, puzzled.

“Shh, I am concentrating.” Villanelle counts fifty perfectly crisp 100 euro bills, then hands them to Eve.

“What? No. You are the money keeper.” Eve tries to object.

“What if we’re forced to go separate ways? You have no money with you. It’s like being dead.” Villanelle says, her expression very serious.

Eve takes the money with trembling hands and puts it in the hidden pocket of her bag. She must look uncertain about the whole ordeal, because Villanelle speaks again.

“I don’t want us to be separated, especially now that _we are fine,_ but I have to think about all the possibilities.”

“Okay. Okay. Thank you.” Eve says, marginally relieved. Then she realizes their destination.

“Why Holyhead? What’s in there? Wait, it’s in Wales, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is in Wales. I am sure it’s a lovely town, but we’re not staying long there.”

“Where are we going from there then?”

“There is a ferry. It will take us to Dublin. Then we will see.”

Dublin. In Ireland. Eve has been once to Dublin, with Niko. It doesn’t feel like a lifetime ago, it really does feel like an entirely different lifetime.

Eve is once again taken away from her own thoughts by Villanelle’s voice.

“We need to board the train now, it will leave in ten minutes’ time.” She starts walking and Eve follows her, not doubting Villanelle’s choice for even a second. _Trust_ , that’s what’s she’s experiencing. That was the unidentified feeling she had on the bridge, when she started walking alongside the younger woman. Six months prior she would have laughed at the thought of trusting Villanelle again, her shoulder aching from a bullet wound and her heart aching from something she hasn’t still recognized fully. But now, Villanelle is all she has.

They board the train and find their seats. It’s a twelve seats carriage, but at 12.04pm there’s no one else in there, except them. The journey from London to Holyhead will last 5 hours, so they’re bound to get in Wales at sunrise.

“I think you can take the two seats opposite me” Villanelle says “Like that you can lay down and get some rest. The ferry trip tomorrow morning will be shit, so it’s better if you get some sleep now.” She adds, matter of factly.

“Are you going to sleep, too?” Eve asks. She’s so tired, she hasn’t slept in two days and the idea of five blissful (at least she hopes) hours of sleep looks really like a God’s gift.

“No. I have to keep watch.” Villanelle says. She must notice Eve’s frown, because she smiles warmly and adds “Do not worry about me, I am used to this. I once forewent sleep for four days straight. I will be fine.”

Eve doesn’t doubt her for one second, but still she finds herself wanting to know more about the creature in front of her. She always thought she knew so much about Villanelle, just to find out that she really didn’t know shit.

“When was this?” Eve asks then.

Villanelle ponders her response for a moment, then seems to decide on the answer.

“During my training with Dasha. It was an endurance test.” Her words are flat, devoid of any emotion. She’s simply stating a fact. Eve doesn’t doubt her answer for a second.

_I broke her back, I gave her wings._

Eve remembers Dasha’s words at the bowling alley. She wonders in how many ways Villanelle had to be broken in order to become that _perfect killing machine_ the older Russian assassin babbled about. She almost feels ashamed because there was a time, when they didn’t know each other, in which she too thought about the nameless, faceless assassin as a perfectly functioning death sentence. Not anymore now. Not anymore.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

For the fourth time that night, Villanelle’s voice brings Eve back from the incessant train of thoughts in her mind.

“You really should sleep. You can ask me more questions in the morning, I promise I will answer all of them.” She says, almost reading Eve’s mind and sensing her need of knowledge. There’s a small smile tugging at her lips, a content one. She looks young, and almost carefree.

Eve takes off her coat and bunches it on one seat as a makeshift pillow. She lies down on the two seats. They’re hard and fucking uncomfortable, but with how tired she is she is absolutely sure she will be asleep in no time. 

“Okay. I guess I’ll sleep then? Call me if anything happens. You can shake me awake, I’m a heavy sleeper. Oh, and kick me if I snore. Not too hard, maybe?” Eve is babbling, she knows it, and Villanelle knows it too because she’s suddenly looking really amused. The thing is, sleeping in front of a very awake Villanelle is a million miles away from Eve’s notion of _comfortable_.

Or maybe, Eve is just feeling very vulnerable all of a sudden.

Villanelle rises from her seat, and says:

“Lie down, I promise I will behave. No funny business, cross my heart.” She then proceeds to unfasten the laces of her coat.

“Why are you up, what are you doing?” Eve says, and she’s suddenly panicking even if she has no fucking idea why.

“Sleeping uncovered is shit. You will get cold. I am giving you my coat.” Villanelle has discarded her coat revealing a total black ensemble underneath, black skinny jeans, black boots and a black shirt buttoned all the way up. She drapes the coat over Eve’s form, then plops back gracefully on her seat. She takes out her phone and starts looking something up on it, in fact ending their conversation.

“Thank you. Goodnight Villanelle.” Eve says, the fight leaving her in a rush, because Villanelle’s mustard coat is in a really hideous color, and it’s amazingly soft, and it smells fantastic. Well, it smells like Villanelle. Eve’s eyelids feel so heavy, and the smell surrounding her it’s like a sleeping potion. In her almost dreamy haze Eve lets herself wonder for a moment how would it be to be surrounded by the woman herself, and not only by her coat. Eve will take this, for now. It’s already more then she has ever dared herself to hope. She misses the soft “Goodnight Eve, sleep well” that Villanelle says to her just seconds after.


	2. THE ONE WHERE VILLANEVE MOVES IN

_There is a house built out of stone_

_Wooden floors, walls and window sills_

_Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust_

_This is a place where I don't feel alone_

_This is a place where I feel at home_

_The Cinematic Orchestra – To Build A Home_

Eve is having a really strange dream in which she keeps trying to cook an omelette, but every time she cracks an egg it disappears as soon as it touches the frying pan.

Then the whole kitchen starts to shake, like an earthquake. And Villanelle’s voice is calling her.

“Eve. Eve, we are here. You have to wake up.”

Wait, why is Villanelle calling her while she is in her own kitchen? And why can’t she see her?

Then the dream is suddenly pulled away from Eve, and she startles awake. In front of her there’s a very real, very awake Villanelle, amusedly looking down at her.

Eve suddenly remembers. Tower Bridge, then the station. Villanelle’s smile. A lot of cash. The train. 

_Holy shit, that really happened._

Villanelle is still looking at her, grin in place, and she doesn’t look a day older than 22 in the morning light. God, why is she so stupidly gorgeous and why doesn’t Eve’s brain seem to be able to compartmentalize anymore?

Eve feels certainly less tired then she was before, and taking a look at her watch she realizes that she has, in fact, slept for five hours straight. Her back is killing her though, those seats were fucking uncomfortable and there was really no reason for the universe to remind her, _once again_ , that she’s not twenty anymore. She realizes her hair must be all over the place, her clothes are absolutely rumpled and she’s in desperate need of a shower.

Villanelle on the other hand looks like she just walked out of a goddamn photoshoot. She hasn’t slept a wink and yet she looks calm and refreshed, not a hair out of place. Well, _youth will do that, Eve,_ her own brain supplies. Youth, and being _unfairly_ genetically blessed, it then adds for good measure.

Eve gets up, and she must have winced from of the back pain because suddenly Villanelle’s smile has faded and she looks genuinely worried.

“Are you okay?” She asks, putting a hand on Eve’s shoulder. Eve can feel the warmth of Villanelle’s fingers even through her turtleneck, and Villanelle doesn’t seem to have noticed, nor does she seem to mind, Eve’s disheveled appearance.

“Yeah, just old.” Eve retorts, trying to smile but resulting in a grimace.

“Nonsense. You don’t look old, Eve, but your wardrobe surely looks in need of an upgrade. And you look like a lion right now. Your hair is really wild!” Villanelle’s smile is teasing but also fond, a thing that Eve didn’t think she would be seeing in her life, like _ever,_ until 48 hours ago.

Eve plops back down on the seat and covers her face with her hands. God. She needs a mirror, and a hairbrush, and she needs them right now. Too bad there is none of those things in the near vicinity. Villanelle must sense her discomfort.

“You still look good, by the way. Come on, let’s go find some breakfast. I am starving.” The younger woman then extends her hand once again towards Eve, a clear invitation to follow her. Eve realizes that Villanelle’s smile is always small, almost shy, when she does thing like that. Like she’s afraid that Eve won’t take her hand, but she is still putting herself out there.

So she gets up and takes Villanelle’s hand. Because, Eve finds out in that moment, if Villanelle wants to hold her hand, Eve is going to let her. Jesus, this is going to be a _disaster_.

The older woman rummages through the left pocket of her coat with her free hand, because she’s 42 years old and there’s a really pretty 27 years old girl holding her hand and when did things went south like this? And when did Eve stop caring about everything else? She finds that she really doesn’t fucking care.

Eve finds what she’s looking for, a plain black hairband (thank God for small mercies) and then she really needs to get her hand back because tying her hair with one hand it’s not humanly possible. Even if Eve really, really wants it to be.

They exit the train and walk along the platform, looking for somewhere to eat. It’s 5.33 in the morning. There’s a small cafeteria tucked between the washroom and the ticket office. That will do. Eve hasn’t eaten anything in 18 hours and the Tangfastics in the Bitter Pill office are the last thing Villanelle has tasted either.

They enter and without so much a glance to each other they go sit in the furthest booth from the door, away from any possible prying eye.

A worn looking waitress hands them two menus and says she’s going to be back in two minutes to grab their orders. Coffee, black, for Eve, with a side of scrambled eggs and over done bacon. Green tea, for Villanelle, with triple chocolate scones. Of course she went with the triple chocolate. Of course.

They eat in silence, their hunger getting the best of them, and it’s only when Villanelle has polished her scones and gulped her tea that she speaks again.

“ The ferry leaves in 30 minutes. We better hurry. Eating just before this trip it’s not ideal. I hope you don’t suffer from seasickness.”

Eve has no idea if she suffers from seasickness or not. She’s never been on a ferry before. Hell, she’s never been on a boat before, period. She thinks it’s better not to tell Villanelle that, for some reason.

“I will be fine.” Eve finds herself say. She eyes the bathroom, excuses herself and makes a run for it. She’s never been more grateful for a sink, or a mirror, in all her life. God, she looks tired. She thinks about Villanelle’s words from earlier, the way she told her that she looked good even in her current state.

The woman is a really good liar, Eve thinks. Either that, or she’s really, really biased. She finds herself smiling at the mirror, and if she knows why, she pretends not to.

Eve splashes her face with cold water, rearranges her bun, and walks back into the cafeteria. Villanelle is looking down on her phone, but she must sense her presence because suddenly she looks up, finds Eve’s eyes, and smiles warmly. Eve feels like there’s a whole swarm of butterflies in her stomach, like there’s no room left for anything but _them_ in that moment, in an awful cafeteria in Holyhead, Wales, waiting for a ferry to bring them to their next destination.

The ferry is awful. It’s old, and it looks like it’s going to crumble any minute now. Eve finds herself grabbing Villanelle’s hand just before boarding, because she can and also because she’s really fucking scared of the rusty thing before them.

God, the trip to Dublin is even more awful. Eve doesn’t get seasick, but she wishes for death a time or twenty during the three hours journey. Then, every time, she looks at Villanelle who smiles back at her, and Eve wishes for the longest life ever.

They arrive in Dublin at 10 o’clock in the morning. The sky is clear, the air is crisp, and Eve gets sick as soon as her feet touch the ground. If Villanelle is amused by it, she doesn’t show. Instead she rubs the space between Eve’s shoulders while Eve’s being icky, and then hands her a single packed wet wipe (they were given to them during the ferry trip, Eve has never felt more grateful in her entire life).

They walk to a car rental near the docks, and Villanelle once again stuns Eve stupid by charming the pants off the rental guy with a flawless Irish accent, even getting them a 20% discount on the whole thing. How she convinces him to give them a car, without even a credit card, it’s lost on her. Eve thinks for a second that it’s nice to know she’s not the only one who’s feeling absolutely witless when it comes to the young blonde.

They stop for clothes and essentials before getting on the road. Eve waits for Villanelle to buy something outrageous that won’t possibly go with their under-the-radar plans, but is stunned once again when she sees the blonde purchase neutral items in black, grey and dark blue. The most daring thing she gets? A vibrant green Henley. Eve does the same, of course, but by now she is a master of being dressed down, so for her it’s just like a normal day of shopping.

Villanelle discards the mustard coat in a bin as they exit the store, replacing it with a black bomber jacket that manages to go perfectly with her all-black attire. _Go figure_ , Eve thinks. The blonde also got a black backpack and a duffle bag in which she put all of their belongings. The bag and the backpack go into the trunk of their car, and then they’re ready to go.

Villanelle is a surprisingly careful driver. She doesn’t go over the speed limit, makes sure both their seatbelts are on before starting the car, and keeps her eyes firmly on the road. Not that Eve wanted them anywhere else. She just missed having them _on her_ all the time. So, maybe she did want them _somewhere else_ then on the road.

Tudor Lodge is a B&B located into the Wicklow Mountains National Park. It’s secluded, but not too much. It takes them a good hour to get there. Villanelle has set up her phone as a navigator, and she looks every inch in her element as a driver as she does in everything else. Eve is transfixed.

Once they park, Villanelle opens the trunk and gets their luggage without even blinking, like it’s the normal thing to do. Eve feels warm all over, like she’s been cared of after a long, long time. She smiles. Villanelle smiles back, then speaks.

“So, who do you want to be?”

“What?”

“I mean, it’s not like we can give our real names in there. Who do you want to be? Deciding is half the fun.”

“I don’t know. It’s not like I can make accents, like you. I guess I could be an American tourist? And you can be, American too? Is Billie still alive?”

Villanelle grins. “I knew you liked her. I still have her passport with me. That will do for the identification. And you can be…I don’t know, what’s your maiden name?”

Eve hesitates for a second, then she thinks fuck it, because that’s probably the least personal information Villanelle will ever know about her.

“Park. It’s Park.”

“Okay then, Eve _Park_. Shall we?” Villanelle says, already in her American accent.

“We shall.” Eve responds, and together they enter Tudor’s Lodge.

Eve waits for Villanelle to be done with the booking in an oversized armchair. The place is not new by any means, but it’s well taken care of and it’s really, really lovely, all wood and stone and antique looking furniture. The blonde appears next to Eve with a key dangling from her fingers and a cocky smile plastered on her face. Eve waits for her to speak, and she’s not disappointed.

“We have the room for a whole week. I paid in cash. The desk lady didn’t ask about you, she was satisfied with my ID and my charming personality. I asked for two single beds, in case you were wondering.” Eve wasn’t. Oh, for God’s sake. Eve _did_ wonder. It’s like her brain starts automatically the denial mode when it comes to Villanelle, just to realize seconds later that there’s no need for it anymore.

They take the stairs to their room, which is as lovely as the rest of the structure. As promised two comfortable looking double beds take over almost all the bedroom, between them a bedside table with a lamp on each side. There’s a small desk on the side, with a chair.

The bathroom is not big by any means, but it has a bathtub with a showerhead, so it’s more than enough. There are fluffy towels and bathrobes, and Eve could cry with how much she wants to get into one of them right now.

“You should try and relax, today we are going to rest and recharge our batteries.” Villanelle says suddenly. Then she cocks her head, narrows her eyes and pins Eve to the spot with the most menacing glare Eve has ever seen. “Tomorrow though, we start your training.”

“My WHAT?” Eve almost shouts. Because this must be a joke. Villanelle jokes all the time after all.

“You cannot defend yourself. Flailing your arms around and hoping to connect with your enemy doesn’t count like fighting, you know? And I don’t think you want to go around kissing people to stop them from hitting you, either? Also, you can’t shoot a gun, you usually just wave it and hope for the best.”

Eve doesn’t think she has blushed so much in her entire life, like _ever_. But the blonde has a point. Multiple points, to be honest. God, is she really going to get self-defence lessons from Villanelle, of all people?

Eve agrees anyway.

This is going to be a fucking _catastrophe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you say???
> 
> And yes, the chapter titles are Friends' episodes.
> 
> Kudos make me write faster.


	3. THE ONE WITH THE ULTIMATE FIGHTING CHAMPION

_My black eye casts no shadow_

_Your red eye sees nothing_

_Your slap don't stick_

_Your kicks don't hit_

_So we remain the same_

_Love sticks_

_Sweat drips_

_Break the lock if it don't fit_

_A kick to the teeth is good for some_

_A kiss with a fist is better than none_

_Kiss With a Fist - Florence + The Machine_

  
  


After a long, hot shower Eve thinks for a moment about food. They are supposed to have lunch in a little while since it’s already noon. She exits the bathroom still wrapped in the fluffy white bathrobe and plants herself face down on the bed, ignoring Villanelle who’s lying on her own bed, looking down at her phone. She has taken off her boots. Her socks are red, with polka dots. So, maybe Eve is not ignoring her after all.

“Eve, hurry up, I am hungry.” The blonde states. Eve is sure Villanelle is pouting even without having to look at her directly.

“When aren’t you?” The Asian woman answers, her own voice muffled by the pillow. God, the bed is awesome. 

“I am going to freshen up and when I am done I want you to be dressed. We are going to have lunch downstairs, then once we come back you can sleep all you want.” Villanelle then gets up, crosses the room and enters the bathroom without even glancing at Eve. 

Eve groans, but gets up nonetheless. She manages to locate the duffle bag and rummages into it until she finds her clothes. Underwear, socks, black leggings and a grey sweater with DUBLIN spelled in the middle in green bold letters. Even a pair of black trainers. She looks like the ultimate tourist, only lacking a hat with the custom GUINNESS lettering. (There are two of them in the bag, though).

Villanelle exits the bathroom ten minutes later. She has braided her hair and changed her shirt, a slate gray long sleeved tee in its place. Her socks are now yellow, with little ducks. Eve finds herself smiling at the sight. Villanelle Astankova, ruthless Russian assassin, likes garish socks. Of course she does. 

Once Villanelle has put her boots back on, they make their way downstairs to have lunch. It’s buffet style, and the blonde basically inhales three plates of food before patting her abdomen contentedly and declaring that she is, indeed, finished. Eve in the meantime has barely finished her first plate. 

“I am going to do a recognition outside, you can go upstairs and rest, if you want.” Villanelle then says. Eve is too tired to argue, so she just murmurs a quiet _thanks_ before taking the stairs, entering their room and face planting once again on her bed. She’s asleep in minutes, the weariness of the last 12 hours taking its toll on her. She wonders for a second how in the heck Villanelle isn’t dying to take a nap since she hasn’t slept a wink in nearly 36 hours. 

When Eve wakes up, the sun has gone and it’s already dark outside. She looks around in the room and realizes that she’s still alone. _Where the hell has Villanelle been for the past six hours?_ Eve realizes looking at her watch.

Eve starts to worry then. What if something happened to Villanelle? What if someone has already managed to get to them? What if...

The bathroom door opens suddenly, and Eve jumps out of her own skin. 

“Good, you’re alive!” It’s almost time for dinner, you know.” Of course. This must be a joke.

Villanelle has obviously been having a bath. She’s sporting her own fluffy bathrobe and there’s a towel in her hair. Her cheeks are still flushed. Eve can see her calves, feet and collarbones peeking out. There’s nothing scandalous about it, but she feels herself blush nonetheless. 

Of course Villanelle notices because she raises an eyebrow and grins, then strides across the room and crouches to retrieve her own clothes from the duffle bag. And then she straightens back up, unfastens the robe, and lets it pool to the floor with a theatrical gesture.

Eve covers her eyes with her hands, but the expanse of skin she just witnessed it’s going to be burned in her retina forever. And ever. And ever. She’s also never going to recover from the blush that has taken over her entire body. She’s going to die _right now_ and she will sport crimson cheeks and ears even as a corpse.

“Are you for real?” Eve squeaks, her voice high pitched and foreign, even to herself.

Villanelle looks over her shoulder, eyebrows raised, and starts to turn.

“For the love of God don’t turn around!” At this point Eve has resorted to shouting.

“Well, you asked if I was for real and I just wanted to confirm that I am. Very much. For real.” There’s a teasing smile in Villanelle’s voice. 

Eve wants to dig a hole into the ground and bury herself in it. 

Villanelle is not naked, _thank God._ She had the decency to put undergarments on under the robe before exiting the bathroom (which it’s not really helping Eve’s predicament right now) and now she has started dressing herself like she’s totally alone.

Eve groans, rolls on her back and starts staring at the ceiling. Every time she closes her eyes she sees long legs, back dimples and muscled shoulders. How did she manage to get all of that in 0.5 seconds, it’s lost on her. Her own brain hates her, that’s the only possible explanation.

Ten minutes later, they’re seated in the dining hall. Villanelle looks unfazed, like she hasn’t just given a peep show leaving Eve brain dead. Eve on the other hand is trying to look anywhere but at her dinner companion. How did she ever think that this whole running away together could be a good idea, Eve doesn’t know. 

“I hope you’re ready for tomorrow.” Villanelle says out of the blue.

“What?” Eve really has no idea what’s she’s talking about.

“Tomorrow morning. We start your training.” 

Oh God, _that._ The idea of hand on hand combat with Villanelle now looks even worse. What if Eve accidentally gropes her? What if Eve makes herself even more a complete fool than she already has? 

Villanelle keeps going, totally oblivious of Eve’s internal struggle.

“This place hasn’t got a gym, and our room is too little. There’s a nice space in the woods five minutes from here though.”

Eve then sobers up, marginally.

“We’re going to fight in the woods?”

“We are not going to fight. No one will be getting hurt, I promise.” 

Eve really hopes that Villanelle is right. She hopes that especially for her own _pride_.

This time when they go back to their room, Villanelle has the decency (or the mercy) of locking herself in the bathroom to put on sleepwear. This is going to be the first night they spend together. Eve is _terrified_. 

She puts on her own sleepwear consisting of shorts and a plain white t-shirt, then crawls under the covers as fast as she can. It’s barely half past eight. Eve hasn’t gone to bed at half past eight since she was maybe five years old.

But here she has no books, her cell phone service is spotty at best, and she has no idea where the remote is. She looks around the room trying to find it. It’s on Villanelle’s side of the bed table. There’s no way she’s getting out of bed to go there. She will ask the blonde to turn on the TV once she’s finished doing whatever she’s doing. 

Five minutes later Villanelle exits the bathroom. She’s sporting shorts very similar to Eve’s only that her legs are a mile long and so they barely manage to cover her ass. Not that Eve’s watching or anything. Her t-shirt, though, does her job properly. 

Eve is thinking about asking the blonde for the remote when something else entirely catches her attention. There’s an ugly scar on Villanelle’s left bicep. It’s stitched unevenly, surely it’s not a doctor’s work. It doesn’t look older than a week, tops. 

“What happened to your arm?” Eve finds herself asking.

Villanelle looks at her dumbfounded for a second, then down to her own arm and back at Eve. 

“Oh, this. Someone stabbed me. During a job.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Eve is serious, and she means to ask more then what happened with the botched job that gave Villanelle a fresh scar with that question. It’s not like her to get injured while on assignment. It’s honestly worrying.

Villanelle swallows and looks at her feet for a couple of seconds, then speaks.

“Not tonight. I promise I will tell you, just not right now, ok?”

“Since when someone _like you_ lets herself get stabbed while on the job?”

Eve realizes she said the wrong thing as soon as the words leave her mouth. Villanelle’s eyes widen for just a second, then her expression turns blank.

“You don’t have exclusive rights on that, you know?” The blonde’s words are be meant to be cutting. They do.

“I thought you said yesterday that I could ask you all the questions I wanted…”

“I know what I said, but this is not the right moment.” The tone of Villanelle’s voice is unmistakable. This conversation ends here. 

“Okay, okay. Do you want to watch some tv?” Eve finds herself asking, desperate for their verbal exchanges to be back on softer tones.

“No, I am tired. I will sleep now. You can watch it though, if you want.” Villanelle is already under the covers, adjusting her pillow. 

“Goodnight then. Sleep well.” Eve tries, something in her chest pinching like a bee sting.

“Goodnight, Eve.”

The room is quiet then. Five minutes later Villanelle is snoring softly, the exhaustion getting the better of her after nearly 48 hours awake. 

Eve is looking at the ceiling. It’s going to be a long night.

  
  


\-------

The woods in Ireland at 8 o’clock in the morning during the spring are unforgiving. It’s cold, and wet, and Eve has slept a total grand of two hours the previous night. Villanelle on the other hand got ten hours of blissful sleep and looks like she could take on the world. 

They haven’t talked much since the night before, Villanelle is still in a quiet mood and hasn’t smiled at Eve once. Not when they woke up, not when they went downstairs to get breakfast, not even when they geared up for their first lesson. Eve would have done anything for one of Villanelle’s smug asshole remarks by then.

They are walking quietly, both dressed in black leggings, warm sweatshirts and trainers. Villanelle stops once they’ve reached a fairly big grassy area surrounded by trees.

She puts her backpack on the ground, and turns to Eve.

“Okay, now you go over there and look directly at me.” The blonde says pointing at a space three or four meters away from her. Eve follows her instructions. She has no idea what’s about to happen.

Villanelle regards her quietly for some moments, her expression blank. 

“Now attack me.” She says suddenly. Eve looks thunderstruck.

“What?” She manages to say in a strangled voice.

“I said, attack me. I am not going to hit you. Try and attack me like you did on the bus? Okay, maybe not _exactly_ like that. Just, put all your strength in it.”

Eve takes a deep breath. Then another. Then launches herself at Villanelle with all she has. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to close her eyes at the last moment though.

It’s like hitting a brick wall. Only this particular wall actually moves, manages to block her arms and legs with lighting speed, and then Eve’s airborne. 

She finds herself flat on her back, the wind knocked out of her. 

“If you close your eyes while trying to attack one of The Twelve’s you’re going to be dead in no time, you know that right?” Villanelle says, her face popping up above Eve. The sunbeams surround the blonde’s face like a halo. Eve thinks she’s still dreaming for a second. Then a hand appears wrapping around her own and hoisting her up.

“Are you okay?” Villanelle asks then.

“I think so. Just stunned. It was some cool ninja shit you did there.”

Villanelle now smiles a bit, clearly delighted with the compliment. Eve prods on.

“Why didn’t you do this when I attacked you on the bus?” She finds herself saying.

“You took me by surprise. I suppose I didn’t think you had it in you, actually. And your head is really hard.” Villanelle answers, touching her forehead reflexively. She seems to think about adding something else, but then just turns around and gets back in position.

“Come on then. Again.” She says, making a come hither motion with her hand.

It’s the worst two hours of Eve’s life. Everything aches. She hasn’t managed a single hit on Villanelle. The woman is lightning fast, astonishingly strong and has ridiculously quick reflexes. There’s sweat beading on Eve’s forehead, rolling of her nape and onto her back. Villanelle looks cool as a cucumber, but she hasn’t make fun of Eve once, she just kept encouraging her. 

Eve is exhausted, and it probably shows because suddenly Villanelle takes pity on her and suggests a cooling break. The blonde extracts two bottles of water from her backpack and gives one to Eve, then sits down gracefully on the grass. Eve on the other hand gulps her water and basically lets herself crumble on the ground next to her. Villanelle chuckles.

“Well, at least I managed to brighten your mood with my incompetence.” The Asian woman says looking up at Villanelle from her lying position. Villanelle’s smile doesn’t falter, so Eve takes it as her cue to apologize.

“I’m sorry for what I said last night, I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t really thinking.” Villanelle snorts at that.

“So you weren’t thinking about my psychopathic tendencies making me an unfeeling, unwavering killer?” The blonde’s smile is now sad, bitter. 

“I don’t think you are one. I think they made you believe you were one, and you didn’t have anything that could make you believe otherwise. But now you’re not like that anymore.”

“And how am I, right now?” Villanelle is challenging her, Eve knows it. She wants to know how much she can push before the dam breaks and Eve spits something hurtful at her. Eve thinks once again about Dasha’s words. She measures her next phrase carefully. 

“I think that the reason why you want out is because you started feeling things. Because you have realized that you’re much more than a puppet in someone else’s hands. You have your own personality, your own desires, your own hopes.”

“What else?”

“I think that whatever happened to you hurt you a great deal, and made you realize that you don’t want this life anymore, that you deserve so much more than this.”

“What else?”

“I want to know what happened to you. I want to understand you. I want to help you.”

“Why, because you want to write a book about me? It would be a best seller, you know.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Why then? Why do you want so much to know about what happened to me? Why do you care so much?”

“Because I care about you, you egotistical dickhead.”

Villanelle blinks, stunned. She looks like she was expecting literally anything else but this. They’re close now, looking directly in each other’s eyes. 

“Why did you kiss me, on the bus?” The blonde asks suddenly. Eve wasn’t expecting the question, either.

“I don’t know.” That’s the answer Eve’s rational brain provided every single day since it happened, so it’s so easy to let the words tumble out of her mouth.

“You go around kissing people without knowing why? Was it just to distract me? To put me out of my depth? That’s why you headbutted me after?” Villanelle is relentless in her pursuit of the truth. Eve is rapidly losing the reins of this conversation, she realizes.

“I...no. I think I headbutted you because I panicked.”

“Because of the kiss?” There’s really no more reason to lie to lie to herself now, Eve thinks.

“...yes.”

“So you did want to kiss me a little bit.” Villanelle is smiling now, just a hint of cockiness on her stupidly gorgeous features. 

“I wanted to strangle you. And make you hurt like I had after you shoot me. I was so angry...and then we fought and you overpowered me and your face was so close and I just...I think it was pure instinct.”

Villanelle then shifts, and her face is hovering just inches from Eve’s. Eve can feel their breaths mingling. 

“So does it mean that if I get this close again, you’re going to kiss me?” The blonde asks, her voice considerably lower than a minute prior.

“Do you want me to?”

“Are you going to headbutt me again, after?”

“No.”

“Then yes, I want you to.”

Eve kisses her. 

  
Villanelle is very much for real, _indeed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are life.
> 
> Also, I have aready written chapter 4, 5 and 6.
> 
> Rating is gonna change, y'all.
> 
> Hope you liked this!


	4. THE ONE WITH THE SCREAMER

_  
My past has tasted bitter_

_For years now_

_So I wield an iron fist_

_Grace is just weakness_

_Or so I've been told_

_I've been cold, I've been merciless_

_But the blood on my hands scares me to death_

_Maybe I'm waking up today_

_Jaymes Young - I’ll be Good_

  
  


They say in the seconds right prior to death your whole life flashes before your eyes. 

So maybe Eve is dying right now. With Villanelle’s tongue in her mouth, her hand buried in Eve’s hair and birds chirping around them.

Well, it wouldn’t be a bad way to go, all things considered.

They part for air some time later, chests heaving and cheeks flushed.

“You know, if you hadn’t stabbed me in Paris we would have done this a lot sooner.” Villanelle is trying to be smooth, but her words are breathless and her gaze is unfocused. Eve feels a surge of confidence in knowing that _she_ was the one who rendered the blonde like that.

“You know, if you hadn’t been such an asshole maybe I wouldn’t have stabbed you.” Eve retorts, sounding as out of breath as her companion. 

“What about we take this back to our room?” Villanelle says then, not an ounce of humour in her voice. Her face is still millimeters from Eve’s and there’s no mistaking the innuendo. Eve has never wanted something like she wants to say yes right now. So she does, nodding and getting up from the ground. She’s covered in grass leaves. 

Villanelle looks supremely pleased by the course of events and gets up too, leading the way back to Tudor Lodge. They climb the stairs slowly, Villanelle looking back every two steps to make sure that Eve hasn’t changed her mind and is, indeed, following her. They stop at the door, and Villanelle turns to Eve. 

She says “You don’t have to do anything if you’re not sure.” at the same time Eve says “I need to shower first.” 

They look at each other with wide eyes, and then burst into laughter.

It’s the lightest moment they have ever shared. Eve didn’t even think it was possible for them to experience such levity. Villanelle’s smile is as gorgeous as the rest of her, if not more. The blonde plants one hand near Eve’s head, then leans down and kisses her again. Eve feels like she’s floating, she grips a handful of Villanelle’s sweatshirt and pulls her even closer, deepening the kiss. She has never made out against a door in her whole life. It’s exhilarating. 

The blonde’s mouth is soft against her own, her movements sure, like they’ve been doing this forever. Maybe they are, Eve thinks. Maybe the stabbing, and the shooting, and all that blood was only foreplay for them. Maybe if they didn’t try so hard to kill each other they wouldn’t be here, against this door, trying to be as close as humanly possible. One of Villanelle’s hand is gripping at Eve’s hip, the other has buried itself once again in her hair. _Hair is everything,_ a line from her favorite show, bubbles up into Eve’s brain and she can’t help herself but smile into the kiss.

Villanelle senses it because she immediately stops what she’s doing.

“What is it?” The blonde asks with a hint of a smile. 

“Nothing, I was just thinking what’s with you and my hair.” Eve is nearly panting. 

“You have amazing hair.” Villanelle whispers against Eve lips. Eve feels like her legs are going to give out at any moment.

“Thank you.” She manages to say. 

“Now that we established that, can we go back to the task at hand?” Villanelle reiterates, with a nip at Eve’s upper lip. 

  
  


There’s a muffled noise from inside their room. Their previously locked room. Their supposedly empty room. Villanelle’s face morphs instantly in something cold and dangerous and she detaches herself from Eve, who misses her body warmth immediately. Villanelle in the meantime opens the backpack and extracts a gun, then mimics silence to Eve with a finger to her lips. She mouths “Stay here.”

Eve’s blood runs cold all of a sudden. There’s someone in their room. They’re both too smart to think it’s the maid. Villanelle seems to ponder on something, then opens the door with a kick. 

Hell breaks loose.

There are two men in the room, going through their belongings. Their heads snap up at the sight of Villanelle and both of them draw a gun. They fire. Villanelle is faster, she dives and shoots twice, hitting them both. They crumble to the ground. The blonde then picks up a gun from one of the corpses and hands it to Eve, who in the meantime has let herself into the room to survey the damage. 

“We need to run.” Villanelle says, apologetic.

“I know.” Eve answers. They could have been doing much more pleasurable things to each other now. She’s not even thinking about the two dead men on the floor, or the fact that Villanelle has killed them without even flinching. That’s their life now, and Eve’s strangely okay with that. 

Villanelle picks up the duffle bag from the floor and has maybe taken a step forward before a shot rings out once again into the room. The blonde ducks, the bullet misses her head but succeeds in hitting her already injured arm. One of the men is still alive, even if barely, and has managed to fire the gun from his position on the floor. Eve doesn’t even think about it, she raises her arm and shoots him in the head at the same time Villanelle is collapsing against the door. Eve runs to her and crouches before the blonde, the logical part of her brain telling her that it’s just a superficial wound but the blood already trickling down her arm scaring her to no end. 

“It’s fine.” Villanelle says then, wincing. “I just need to wrap this up and then we can go.”

She takes off her sweatshirt, revealing a gray fitted tank underneath. The wound is not deep, but it’s bleeding like a slaughterhouse. Together they manage to bandage her arm with shreds torn from Eve’s sleeping shirt. 

“I didn’t mean literally when I thought about ripping off your clothes.” Villanelle manages to say, cocky smile in place even through the pain.

“God, you’re such an asshole.” Eve retorts, but it’s devoid of any bite. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She adds. Villanelle nods. Eve helps the blonde to her feet and together they exit the room, leaving behind two dead bodies.

They exit Tudor Lodge trying not to make a fuss. Villanelle opens the truck, puts the bag in but keeps the backpack, handing it to Eve. Better keep their guns close. 

It’s obvious the blonde intends to drive. Eve knows better than trying to change her mind because Villanelle’s jaw is clenched and her expression is absolutely furious. Eve climbs into the passenger seat and puts her seatbelt on.

Villanelle takes the driver’s seat and starts the car. Her grip on the steering wheel is so hard her knuckles are white. 

“Where are we going?” Eve asks tentatively.

“As far away from here as we can.” The blonde retorts. She seems to think for a moment, then talks again. “I need your phone, Eve.” Eve hands it to her. Villanelle then takes both hers and Eve’s phone and hurls them out of the car window. 

“Why did you do that???”

“They must have tracked one of our phones, Eve. There’s no other way they could have find us so fast.” Of course they did. Motherfuckers.

They drive for nearly three hours. Villanelle barely says a word, concentrated as she is on the road ahead. She stops suddenly in front of a pharmacy near Galway, then looks at Eve, eyes weary. The pain must have taken a toll on her.

“There’s money in the backpack. Go inside and please purchase some antiseptic, gauzes, painkillers and see if you manage to get antibiotics as well. Cephalosporin and Gentamicin cream, please.”

Villanelle is the charming one, Eve hasn’t felt charming a single day in her life. She exits the car and enters the Pharmacy, trying to put on a pleasant face for the young man behind the counter. She manages to get the medical supplies without breaking a sweat, but the pharmacist is adamant about the antibiotics. No prescription, no meds. 

Eve thinks about Villanelle, who’s probably already bleeding out of their makeshift bandage, waiting for her in the car. She thinks about Villanelle a few days from now, feverish from the infection, in pain and with no medication in sight. She thinks about Villanelle’s lips, soft against her own, thinks about her smile. How little time they had together until now. Eve realizes that she was right to worry about this, to fight it. She knows now that she will want this every minute, forever. She won’t settle for anything else.

Eve makes a decision and finds it pretty easy, actually. She opens the backpack, draws the gun, and points it right at the face of the young man behind the counter. Her smile is sweet, saccharine, fake. 

“Let’s try this again. I need Cephalosporin and Gentamicin cream, please.” 

She exits the pharmacy five minutes later, bags in hand. Enters the car. 

“I have everything. Let’s go.” Eve tells the blonde.

Villanelle looks at her first with surprise, then with something that could be only recognized as pride, and finally with something else, darker, hungrier. She starts the car.

“Let’s go.”

Finding another place to stay it’s a nightmare, but in the end they manage to outrageously overpay a small cottage about ten miles out of Galway. Villanelle first sweets talk the owner into renting them the house for a week, telling him a sob story about the two of them getting lost and having nowhere to go. Then once he agrees to rent them the cottage she drops the act and threatens to cut his body in small pieces and feed him to his pigs if he mentions their presence to a soul. He nods vigorously and hands Villanelle the keys.

As soon as they enter the house the blonde slumps onto one of the kitchen chairs. Eve is at her side in seconds, clutching the backpack containing the medical supplies. She locates the antibiotics immediately and gives them to Villanelle along a bottle of water.

“The guy at the pharmacy said to take two of these three times a day, for a week.” Eve supplies. Villanelle watches her curiously. 

“How did you manage to get them without prescription?”

“He tried to tell me that much. I pointed the gun to his head. And said please.”

Villanelle watches her dumbfoundedly for a couple of seconds, then starts to laugh so hard that her eyes water.

“Shut up.” Eve tries, to no avail.

“I wish I could have seen it. You’re so badass today, Eve.” Villanelle retaliates.

“I wish I had left you on the damn bridge.”

“No you don’t.”

Eve tries to give the blonde her most menacing stare, then exhales loudly.

“No I don’t.” She admits.

“I knew it.” 

“Shut up and let me patch you up now.”

“Yes, Kill Commander.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Next chapter, the rating changes.
> 
> I hope you’re still enjoying this 🙈
> 
> The kudos and the comments are giving me life, I AM SO HAPPY 😭


	5. THE ONE WHERE EVE AND OKSANA...YOU KNOW.

_I like the sound of your heels_

_And I like the sound of your squeals_

_And I like the colour of your lips_

_And I like the way your right hand grips mine_

_And I like the way your cheeks unfold into a smile_

_And I like the way you kiss me with your eyes open all the while_

_And I find you to be the most beautiful thing I see_

_And I find you to be the truth, you'll be just like a song_

_Kat Cunning - Eve_

  
  
  


Eve cleans the wound meticulously and stitches up the cut following Villanelle’s directions. The blonde in the meantime gulps down two painkillers and whines like a toddler. She now has two badly stitched wounds on the same arm.

“They almost look like a V, you know?” Eve tries.

“How thrilling.” It’s Villanelle only response. 

“Hopefully once they’re healed they won’t look too bad.”

“Do you want to kiss them better?” Villanelle says, smirk back in place.

“I am sure the antiseptic cream tastes really good, but no, thanks.” Eve retorts.

“You were really good in there, you know?” Villanelle tells Eve, suddenly serious. Eve knows she’s talking about the bullet that scattered that man’s brain against the wall of their bedroom, back at Tudor Lodge.

“It was either him, or you.” Eve tells her with a shrug. “It was an easy choice.” She adds.

“Look at you, all grown up. It’s really hot.” Villanelle teases, a wicked gleam in her eye. 

“It’s always push and pull with us, isn’t it?” Eve asks, seemingly transfixed by the trickle of blood that still lingers on Villanelle’s arm as she grazes her thumb around the crimson stain. 

The blonde is still smirking. She looks directly in Eve’s eyes, then talks. 

“What would happen...” Villanelle stands and continues, as if in a trance, her gaze brighter, hotter, and deadlier than ever _._ Eve feels a hand softly rest upon her waist, and suddenly they are moving, Villanelle turning them gently until Eve is backed against the kitchen counter. “What would happen if I pushed?” 

Eve feels a strange kind of exhilaration, a thrumming energy she has never felt; not when Niko had first kissed her, not when she had gotten the job at MI5, not when she had nearly single-handedly tracked down the Russian assassin through all of Europe. She can’t place it, but whatever it is, it calls to her like a moth to a flame. 

Eve’s not entirely sure it’s her own voice answering.

“You should know, _Oksana_ ” she whispers, and if the look of it it’s of any indication the blonde is really surprised by the use of her given name.

“When you push” Eve inches closer, tantalizingly closer, enough that they share the same air, enough to see Villanelle’s swallow and her blown out pupils. “ _I pull_.” 

Villanelle opens her mouth to retort, but Eve can’t let the opportunity go to waste. The blonde has pushed her against the marble edge of the kitchen counter; Eve shoves forwards, nearly colliding but successfully capturing the blonde’s lips with her own. 

There’s a squeak, then a gasp, but Eve swallows both, feeling the exhilarating pressure of Villanelle’s hand grasping her waist like a lifeline, the other winding painfully, gloriously into her hair. The blonde takes only a few seconds to regain her composure and then Eve feels the softness of her lips rising to the challenge, responding to the kiss with equal intensity. 

Eve’s hands move deliberately to find the curves of Villanelle’s abdomen, and she relishes the blonde’s shiver under them; her fingers travel upwards, grazing soft skin and passing through strong muscle until they rest under the soft swells of Villanelle’s breasts. 

Villanelle gasps, interrupting their kiss momentarily and releasing Eve before meeting her lips again. Her strong arms encircle the brunette as she holds onto the edge of the counter, effectively pinning Eve in place. Eve takes the opportunity to slide her hands up Villanelle’s sides, delighting in the little jerks and quakes and goosebumps she elicits. Her hands find the blonde’s arms and skim a path over them before settling onto her toned shoulders. 

Villanelle brings them impossibly closer and Eve lets her believe, for a moment, that she has gained the upper hand in this dance. 

And then she bites her. 

Villanelle yelps, disbelief crossing her features for a second. It’s gone in a flash, and there is a renewed ferocity in the blonde’s responding kiss, a fight for dominance that Eve can’t do anything but let her have. Villanelle pulls back, looking positively vicious. Her triumphant gaze pierces Eve’s, victorious and proud. 

“Do you think you can handle me, Eve?” she teases, inching ever closer—Eve can feel Villanelle’s breasts brushing against her own, even through their mutual layer of clothing. 

“Can you?” Eve responds in kind, dragging her nails down Villanelle’s sides.

How thrilling is the widening of Villanelle’s eyes; how positively intoxicating her genuine shock. Eve chuckles darkly, drawing closer and nipping at the blonde’s jaw. 

Villanelle recovers swiftly though, her mouth curling into a smug grin. “I am not assuming” she retorts in kind, bringing her hands to Eve’s waist and holding tightly, cheekily leaning in to bite at the woman’s earlobe, “I am sure of it.”

The husky whisper delivering the last line makes Eve’s throat go dry; her nails scratching Villanelle’s ribs and back almost on autopilot. Villanelle’s victorious chuckle rumbles deep in her chest, and Eve can hear and feel its vibrations. She can only chuckle in response; what an unexpected, delightful development. 

“Bring it on, _asshole_.” Eve challenges. 

Villanelle does, hands finding their way to Eve’s bottom, effortlessly lifting her on the counter. Eve’s legs instinctively wrap around the blonde’s waist, pulling her closer and kissing her once again. The older woman then starts to tug at the blonde’s tank top, pushing it up until Villanelle takes the hint and lifts her arms, letting Eve divest her of the garment, all the while carefully avoiding to touch the freshly treated wound. The blonde then manages to take off Eve’s leggings in a swift motion, like a magic trick, launching them somewhere over her shoulder and resuming the kissing.

“Shit” Eve gasps against Villanelle’s lips once she gets a good look at the blonde’s abdomen and chest, covered only in a simple black bra.

“Shit” she repeats. “You’re so _hot_.” 

“I know.” Villanelle retorts cheekily with a deliberate, painfully slow grind of her hips. It earns her another bite to the collarbone, and Eve’s tongue soothes it almost immediately.

Villanelle is clearly emboldened by the sounds she’s eliciting from Eve; one of her hands continues to easily hold the brunette’s weight while the other ghosts over the pale skin of Eve’s thigh, leaving trails of goosebumps in its wake until it meets its wanted destination. 

Another moan, another gasp, and there is frictionless, easy, sleek movement as Eve raises and lowers her body, seeking more contact, more friction, more... just more of anything Villanelle can give her. She takes it willingly, tightening the grip of her legs around the blonde’s waist and her arms around the head that is currently resting upon Eve’s chest, delivering bites and kisses to her skin as they move together.

“Eve. Eve.” Villanelle breathes against her chest. Eve only grits her teeth, already dangerously close to cresting over her peak with embarrassingly quickness. Villanelle senses its proximity in Eve’s dilated pupils, black overtaking brown, in her breathlessness and faltering movements, in her pleading, supplicating gaze. 

Villanelle holds her tightly, surely, through her violent, interminable shudders, through the involuntary jerks of her hips and thighs, through the keening cry she releases, through the ragged gasps of breath torn from Eve’s chest.

Eve looks at Villanelle intently, processing and thinking, wondering how the hell they had found themselves in this position—this glorious, forbidden, _delicious_ position. 

“Eve?” Villanelle inquires, puzzled by Eve’s pensive gaze, uncertainty creeping into her voice. 

“You push,” Eve replies, quickly untangling herself from their embrace, hopping off the counter and spinning them around so that Villanelle is the one with her back pressed into the cold marble. The blonde has barely a moment to react as Eve drops to her knees in a swift movement. “ _I pull.”_

Villanelle gapes at Eve, all the words apparently having left her for good.

Eve reaches the hem of the blonde’s leggings and tugs them down, then she positions herself between the other woman’s thighs. She drops a kiss, then another, and another, onto Villanelle’s thighs, inching ever closer, never breaking eye contact. 

Villanelle’s breath hitches, her gasps erratic and her hands grip uselessly at the counter as Eve scratches at her sides, breasts, her abdomen, teasing at the junction of her thighs. 

She gasps. Eve smirks wickedly, thoroughly enjoying reducing the mighty lioness that is Villanelle Astankova into a blubbering mess at her mercy. 

“I told you it was good to try new things.” Eve says, just as she did in the ballroom. 

And she does, with no second-guesses or anything tentative about her goal, relishing in the overpowering sensations of being around, with, _inside_ Villanelle, experiencing her softness and her scent, her all-consuming _taste._

Eve’s hands hold tightly onto the blonde’s writhing thighs and hips, while Villanelle’s wound themselves tightly into Eve’s hair, pushing and pulling and shoving with abandon. 

Curious and eager, Eve slips one finger inside. Her reward is a keening wail, and the tightening of Villanelle’s every muscle—Eve can _feel_ all of Villanelle around her and in her arms, and when the blonde borders that precipice, Eve pushes her right off. 

They lay entwined onto the floor for a long time, after, shrouded in their own silence. Eve has flopped down rather inelegantly onto Villanelle, her head resting onto the blonde’s toned abdomen as her nails lazily scratched patterns onto the fair skin. Villanelle’s strong arms hold her tenderly, and Eve realizes that if she wants to, she can let herself just bask in this moment. So she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very nervous about this chapter because I have never written anything like this.
> 
> I hope I didn’t make a mess out of it.
> 
> Feedback is always good though.


	6. THE ONE WITH THE MORNING AFTER

_My wandering soul_

_Found solace at last_

_I wanted to know_

_How long it would last_

_She’s losing control_

_She’s coming down fast_

_This heart that I stole_

_I'm not giving back_

_I'll never give it back_

_Starsailor - Some of Us_

  
  
  


The last Valentine’s day she spent with Niko, Eve thought about Villanelle. Not on purpose, she was surfing the internet to try and quell her boredom and came across a Google alert publicizing the best quotes a person could write on its V-Day card. Among the sickeningly sweet phrases about never ending love and soulmates, something catched Eve’s eye. It was a poem by Michael Faudet. It recited:

_You are my Valentine_

_A rare rose with vicious thorns picked._

_My Love written with fingers bloody._

Eve couldn’t help herself but think about the blonde when she read that quote. And right now, lying between the sheets in Villanelle’s arms, Eve finds herself thinking about how fitting that poem is for the two of them.

Villanelle is currently defying every possible scenario Eve could have conceived in her head about a hypothetical morning after (not that she thought _that_ much about it. It’s actually scary _how much_ she thought about it.). Villanelle has curled herself around Eve trying to put as little space as possible between them. A hand is splayed possessively against Eve’s abdomen and she has one leg hooked on Eve’s hip. Her face is squished in the juncture where Eve’s neck meets shoulder and everytime the older woman tries to move Villanelle just holds her tighter.

Eve thinks it’s unbelievably cute, the sleepy mumbles and noises the blonde makes. She reminds herself of teasing her about it, after. In the meantime Eve is pretty content with twirling a strand of blonde hair between her fingers and looking at the stupidly gorgeous profile of Villanelle while she’s asleep.

As if sensing Eve’s brain processing, Villanelle stirs awake. It’s like watching a cat, her long limbs stretching and her back arching against the mattress. The sheets slip and bunch around her hips but she doesn’t make a move to cover herself. _Smug asshole, Eve thinks_. The blonde plops back on the bed tucking a hand behind her head, then angles herself towards Eve. Eve stares, then stares some more just because she can and also because her body and brain are having a really hard time processing that yes, the mind blowing sex of the night before really happened and yes, there’s a really naked Villanelle looking at her with the smuggest smile she has ever seen on her face. 

“Good morning.” The blonde says, eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Morning.” Eve answers, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably and feeling her cheeks heat up. God, is it going to be like this, from now on? Will she ever get over seeing Villanelle showing that much skin? Eve is not sure, but again, she’d like to know who wouldn’t feel at least a bit flustered waking up with a vision like that.

Eve also realizes that she just thought about waking up next to Villanelle as if it’s going to be a regular thing from now on. She finds out she doesn’t mind in the least.

“Do you ever stop thinking?” Villanelle asks, shifting close to Eve once again, their shoulders touching.

“Not really.” Eve answers truthfully. _I haven’t stopped thinking since I first met you_ , she wants to say. The words stay lodged in her throat. 

“Can I kiss you goodmorning?” Villanelle’s face shifts while she says the words, and Eve realizes that she’s now talking to _Oksana_. It’s the way her whole features soften and her smile now reaches her eyes, the way her body loosens and make her look smaller, younger, somehow more real. The same way she was on the dancefloor just days ago, when she wrapped up herself around Eve and whispered hard confessions in her ear.

It’s the uncertainty with how the words are delivered that gets to Eve. Like after everything they’ve been through, Oksana somehow is still afraid the she’s going to be rejected. That _Eve_ is going to reject her. It breaks Eve’s heart, thinking that the young woman before her has been so systematically failed by the people she cared about that now doesn’t know how to trust anyone. Eve also feels a surge of pride knowing that even in her fear of rejection Oksana has decided that yes, Eve is worthy of seeing the real _her_ , the one that no one else gets to. 

Eve lifts her hand and traces the contours of the blonde’s cheekbone with her index finger, then cups her jaw tenderly. She smiles.

“Of course you can.” She answers.

The blonde smiles back, a precious shy thing that Eve wants to steal and hide so that no one else gets to see. Oksana leans in and presses her lips to Eve’s. It’s nothing like their previous kisses. The first, back on the bus, was hard and dry and meant to disarm. The ones they shared the previous night were filled with passion and urgency, meant to try and get the upper hand, like they were trying to win a race only them were aware of. This kiss is sweet, and soft, and laced with so much tenderness that Eve’s heart aches. She feels once again the overwhelming need to wrap her arms around the blonde and never let go, to protect her for any harm. It should be funny, really, wanting to shield from danger _Oksana_ of all people, but for Eve it makes all the sense in the world. Villanelle doesn’t really need anyone’s protection. Oksana, on the other hand, is a whole different story.

When they part the blonde’s smile is still in place, bigger than before and more than a little pleased. 

“I have been wanting to do that for a long time. Kissing you good morning, I mean.” She says, like she’s sharing a secret.

“Yeah?” Eve is playing coy. She knows it, Oksana knows it, but it doesn’t matter.

“Yes. It is very nice.” The blonde looks exhilarated, like a kid at Christmas who’s just received all the toys she asked Santa for, and then some. 

“It is Oksana, it is.” Eve realizes that the feeling is very mutual. She kisses the blonde back and they’re both smiling, so it’s a little awkward and their noses bump and then they start laughing into each other’s mouth and this is _everything_ , Eve thinks. She also thinks that this could be the best chance she ever gets at asking things.

The older woman shifts a little, just enough to be able to look Oksana in the eyes but at the same time without having to stop touching her in some measure. 

“How’s your arm?” Eve asks, trying to start from a relatively safe place and test the waters.

“It is fine. Doesn’t hurt that much, I had a really good nurse.” Oksana is still smiling.

Eve braces herself and tries to articulate the question in the gentlest tone she can.

“Are you going to tell me what happened now? Please?”

Oksana swallows. Her smile disappears and her eyes shimmer. She exhales. Her voice is small and almost inaudible when she speaks.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“I don’t want to like it, I just want to understand.” Eve tries to reassure her with a hand on the shoulder. Oksana flinches. _Okay, this is going to be bad_ , Eve thinks.

“And what if you don’t like it? What if you change your mind?” Oksana sounds almost panicked now, and Eve realizes that she’s talking about _her_ , about _them_ . She’s afraid that whatever she’s going to say will possibly jeopardize all the steps forward they made until now. Oksana is afraid of losing _her._ Eve needs to make things very clear, now. 

“Do you eat babies?”

“What?” Oksana looks puzzled, to say the least.

“I said, do you eat babies?”

“What, no, I am not a cannibal, Eve.” 

“Well, I guess then we’re okay.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means that there’s nothing you can say that can make me change my mind about _this_.” Eve says and makes sure to gesticulate between the two of them very clearly, in case there’s any room for misunderstanding (there isn’t).

Oksana is now looking at her with such intensity that Eve thinks that she’s going to drown into the depths of her hazel eyes. They are filled with tears, unshed but ready to fall. She tries to look away, but Eve gently guides her face back to hers with a hand on her cheek.

“It’s okay, I promise.” Eve tries to reassure her. A tear falls and disappears between her fingers. Oksana leans more fully into Eve’s hand, like she’s searching for comfort. Then

“I killed my mother. About a week ago.”

It would be a lie to say that Eve doesn’t feel anything at all upon hearing the words. She swallows and tries not to react at all. It is a big thing, indeed. A seemingly really big, really _bad_ thing. An almost unforgivable thing. But then Eve thinks back about how little she knows about Oksana’s past, and she’s sure she remembers an orphanage. 

“Okay.” She says. “I guess there’s also a story there, somewhere?”

Oksana looks at her like she has suddenly grown a second head.

“Did you hear me? I said I killed my own mother.”

“Did she deserve it?” Oksana looks like Eve is speaking a foreign language, and it takes her some moments to answer back.

“I...I went there and I thought maybe she had changed, but I was wrong. She was hurting my little brother. Half brother.”

“Did you kill him, too?”

“Who, Bor’ka? Of course not. I gave him money to go see Elton John.” Eve smiles a little at that because _only_ Oksana could do such a thing.

“Did your mother put you in that orphanage? The one that burned down?” Eve prods gently.

“Yes.” Another sniffle.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. When I went to see her she said that I had a darkness. That she didn’t want me there. That I wasn’t part of the family, that I didn’t belong there. She told me to leave.”

“And you killed her for that.”

“I had to. I thought that it would make it _stop_ .” The tears are now falling freely from the blonde’s cheeks, but Eve can’t leave it at that, she _has_ to know.

“Make what stop?”

It’s too much then, because Oksana starts to cry in earnest and the sobs wreck her whole body. Eve doesn’t know what to do, so she acts on pure instinct and wraps her arm around the blonde’s frame, careful to avoid her injured arm but otherwise keeping her as close as possible. She runs her fingers through Oksana’s hair, rubs her back up and down trying to extend as much comfort as she can. Kisses her temple, her cheeks, tastes the salt of her tears. Oksana hides her face into Eve’s neck, mumbles something so quietly that Eve almost doesn’t get it. 

“I was wrong. It still hurts.” She’s saying. 

Eve’s heart breaks for her. Her next words come out without thought, like it’s the only logical things to say. 

“It’s okay baby, It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” The term of endearment rolls easily out of her mouth. Eve decides that it doesn’t sound wrong at all. She keeps massaging the blonde’s scalp with her fingers while drawing soothing patterns on her back with the other hand.

The sobs gradually fade and turn to sniffles, then Oksana’s breathing finally settles. After some times Eve voices a tentative question. 

“Do you want to sleep some more?” Oksana cracks open an eye but doesn’t make a move to disentangle herself from Eve’s embrace. Her voice tickles Eve’s neck when she finally speaks.

“No. I am hungry. I want breakfast.” 

“That’s _my_ girl.” Eve says, smiling. And she means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is maybe my favorite chapter of all the fanfic.
> 
> I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.
> 
> As always, kudos are life.


	7. THE ONE WHERE EVE CAN’T FLIRT

_But she said, where'd you wanna go?_

_How much you wanna risk?_

_I'm not looking for somebody_

_With some superhuman gifts_

_Some superhero_

_Some fairytale bliss_

_Just something I can turn to_

_Somebody I can kiss_

_Something Just Like This - The Chainsmokers_

  
  


“I want to take you out .”

Eve at first doesn’t register Oksana’s statement, she’s too busy trying to make the coffee maker work. She distractedly hmmms and gets back to the task at hand.

“Did you hear what I said?” The blonde reiterates.

“No, sorry, what was it?”

“We’ve been together for one day and you are already ignoring me. You prefer to fight with appliances than talking to me.” Oksana pouts. It’s adorable.

Eve tries to stop her insides from doing somersaults upon hearing the word _together_ and focuses on the blonde in front of her. They changed the bandage on her arm and she’s now sporting a black v-neck t-shirt and underwear. Nothing else. Not that Eve’s complaining, but the view of her bare legs is quite distracting. 

“My eyes are up here, you know.” Oksana smirks. Of course she caught Eve ogling her. Eve snorts.

“Oh, shut up.” The older woman manages to say, and she’s proud of herself because her blush is just a bit less pronounced than before. One day she will master this thing. 

“I said that I want to take you out. You know, for dinner?” 

“Where, here?”

“No, my personal jet will take us to Paris tonight and we’ll dine at Epicure. Of course I’m talking about having dinner here! Jesus Eve, for being so smart sometimes you say really dumb things.”

Eve thinks that there’s an insult in there, somewhere. Then she realizes that Oksana just said that Eve’s really smart and that she wants to take her out for dinner, and melts a bit.

“You mean like a date?”

Oksana looks a bit flustered. “Yes. I know it’s not the ideal location and we haven’t got appropriate outfits and I miss my curling iron _a lot_ , but I thought that we could, you know, have a nice dinner. There are some cute restaurants, I saw them when we arrived yesterday and we have the money to pay for it.” She’s babbling. Eve wants to kiss her stupid.

“Okay.” 

“Okay? Really?” Oksana whole face has lightened up like a Christmas tree and Eve feels warm all over. She realizes she would do anything to keep her smiling like this.

“It’s going to be amazing. I promise.” The blonde has reached out from her seated position at the kitchen isle and is squeezing Eve’s hand. Eve squeezes back.

“I know.” Eve says. She thinks about another time Oksana told her the very same words, and how different the outcome had been. It doesn’t hurt anymore, she realizes. Any of it. In its place now there’s a warm, fuzzy feeling that keeps growing and growing with each smile shared and every kiss traded.

They have breakfast in comfortable silence, Oksana wolfs down an entire stack of pancakes with two mugs of coffee and once she’s finished helps Eve with the cleaning up. She then retreats to the bathroom to have a shower, but not before having kissed Eve so thoroughly that the older woman feels out of breath and unfocused for five minutes straight after Oksana’s gone.

_Well, Good Morning to me,_ Eve manages to think. 

Once they have both showered they spend the rest of the day wrapped up in each other on the cozy couch in the living room. Oksana reads a worn copy of Wuthering Heights she has found in the bedroom while Eve naps with her head in the blonde’s lap and Oksana’s fingers tangled in her mane of black hair. Every once in a while Eve looks up at the blonde, and every single time even if she’s engrossed in the book she seems to sense Eve’s eyes on her and gives her a small smile. Eve thinks that she could definitely get used to this.

  
  


The cute restaurants Oksana has eyed are all within walking distance. The sky is clear and there’s a slight breeze when they exit the house at 6pm, so they bundle up again in their sweatshirts to shield themselves from the cold. Oksana immediately grabs Eve’s hand, entwining their fingers. Eve feels her cheeks burn. She doesn’t even remember the last time she did something like this. Oksana is always touching her in some way, always searching for physical connection. Eve doesn’t mind in the slightest, even if she never considered herself to be a tactile person. Well, to be honest she never even considered the possibility to be into women before she met the blonde, so it looks like she’s experiencing a whole amount of _firsts_ . Or maybe she is just into _Oksana_ , and everything else comes accordingly. 

They choose a small restaurant called Halloran’s that boasts “locally sourced menu and reasonable prices” on the board outside. 

A kind looking man in his sixties welcomes them warmly, and the two women greet him in kind. Once they’re seated inside, Oksana looks around and seems to be pleased about what she finds. This place looks like the right choice. 

The blonde peruses the menu, then looks at Eve with a twinkle in her eye and starts reciting with perfect Irish cadence:

“This warm, rustic restaurant in Oughterard is housed in a building that dates back to the 1890’s, when it was a well-known drapery shop. Halloran’s have retained all that old-world charm, with a menu that’s entirely modern and inviting. Our list of suppliers is as local as it gets, featuring Finnerty’s and McGeough’s Butchers of Oughterard, and promising entirely Irish-origin beef and lamb. Even the seafood is sourced from the Connemara Fisheries in nearby Cornamona. The evening menu is well-balanced between surf and turf, with hearty options like aged striploin steak with onion rings, prawn and smoked salmon linguine in cream sauce, and vegetarian options as well. All our prices are reasonable but their early-bird menu, served before 7pm is especially popular, with two courses with tea and coffee for €20.95 per person. We even offer a takeaway menu at reduced prices, offering battered fish and chips, a Louisiana fried chicken burger, butternut squash and sage risotto, and other delicious options for hosting friends or avoiding the wash-up.”

Eve feels the smile the bubbles on her face nearly splitting her own cheeks.

“That was...amazing.”

“I know. I am amazing.” The blonde shrugs.

“And so modest.” Eve teases.

“There’s no point in denying your own awesomeness, Eve. You have to own it.”

“How many languages do you know?”

The blonde thinks for a moment, then starts to recite:

“Well, Russian of course, even if I never use it. Then English, French, Italian, German, Spanish and Mandarin. I am learning Farsi, but it’s still a bit rusty.”

“That’s...a lot of languages.”

“Yeah, well. It was a necessity, really. But I do love french, it’s a really warm language. There are few things sexier than a whispered “ _J’ai envie de toi_ ”. Her voice lowers an octave with the last words, and the looks she gives Eve is unmistakable.

Eve feels warm all over, because she may not be a polyglot by any means but she _does_ know French, and Oksana has just said that she wants her.

_“Moi aussi.”_ She answers. Oksana looks one second away from launching herself at Eve across the table and having her way with her right there, in plane sight. Luckily for them, the server arrives in that exact moment to take their orders. The blonde looks positively murderous at the interruption, and Eve chuckles.

“What’s with people and bad timing! They keep ruining our moments!” She huffs indignantly once the waiter has gone.

“You can’t kill this one, though.” Eve admonishes, trying and failing to suppress a smile.

“I know. But it was still rude.” It’s so endearing, the way just a minute ago Oksana was all _femme fatale_ and now she’s sulking like a toddler. Eve can’t get enough of it.

Once their meals arrive, they eat in silence, because they’re hungry and also because the food is to die for. Chargrilled striploin steak with onion rings, broccoli and chips for Oksana and teriyaki glazed salmon with marinated prawn skewers, pak choi, cucumber and a lime yoghurt sauce for Eve. They choose to accompany their meals with two pints of Guinness because the wine options _are not even worthy a read_ , Oksana states haughtily. They decide to share dessert, so they order a poached pear, chocolate sauce, caramel ice cream and nut crumble concoction that looks divine and tastes even better. 

Once they’ve finished eating, Oksana regards Eve with a strange look.

“What is it?” Eve asks.

“Once all of this is over I will take you on a proper date.”

“I thought this was a proper date?”

Oksana huffs, like a parent who has to explain a very simple concept to a child. “This _is_ a real date, but I meant one with candles, and really good wine, and nice clothes. We look like two homeless hobos, we are drinking beer and don’t even make me start with the state of my hair right now.”

“Your hair is fine.”

“If I wash it one more time with that excuse of a shampoo it will start falling off. And I miss my moisturizer, my skin is so dry.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You love it.” Oksana’s eyes widen for a second at the realization of what she just said, but then her expression shifts to one of nonchalance.

“You don’t need to dine and wine me, you know? I’m already sold.” Eve tries to deflect the conversation from Oksana’s impromptu use of the L word and back to safer topics.

“I don’t need to. But I want to.” The blonde says, softly. Then she adds. “You deserve nice things, you know.”

“I would settle for normal.”

“I would too.” Oksana agrees, quietly. “What about normal, nice things then?” She tries again, desperate for validation.

“That sounds good.” Eve concedes. Their eyes lock. It’s time to go back to the cottage.

They pay for their meals and exit the restaurant, then start walking back to their shared home hand in hand. At one point Oksana halts abruptly, and Eve fears sudden panic, thinking that maybe they are being followed.

“What is it?” She asks, alarm in her voice. Oksana turns slowly with a grin on her face.

“Wanna go make out over there?” The blonde says pointing at a wooden bench facing the sea.

Eve hasn’t had a proper make out session since she was twenty. Well, maybe she and Oksana _did_ make out a bit the previous morning, on the grass. And against the door of their room. The blonde looks so eager right now that Eve finds out that she couldn’t say no to her even if all of the Twelve’s army were there pointing guns at them. 

So they sit on the bench, and look out at the sea for a moment. The breeze makes Eve’s nostrils tingle because of the saltiness, and she closes her eyes. She feels Oksana’s arm envelope her shoulders and her fingers starts to play with a strand of black hair. Eve leans into the taller frame of the blonde and sighs contentedly. 

“This is nice.” She says.

“It is.” Oksana agrees. “Can I kiss you know?” She then adds sheepishly.

“You don’t have to ask every single time, you know?”

“Consent is important.”

“It is _very_ important, but I think I made my consent regarding our activities pretty clear by now.”

Oksana kisses her. She tastes like chocolate and the slight tartness of the dark brew they drank. She cups Eve’s face with her free hand and shifts her head to get a better angle, then deepens the kiss. Eve feels like she’s floating. She wants to stay like this forever, wrapped up in Oksana’s warmth and never look back. It almost _does_ feels normal, like this. Except there are a lot of things that are decisely not normal right now. For once they are fugitives, and there are a lot of people wanting them dead right now. They have no phones, they sleep with guns under their pillows and they have to keep lying to people about who they are, and what they are doing. They have no idea where to go next. Eve can’t live like this, she realizes. She won’t live like this, even if Oksana is with her. She presses one last kiss to the blonde’s lips and presses their foreheads together.

“Oksana.” She tries, gently.

“Mmmh?” The blonde gives her a dreamy smile, and Eve feels like the worst person ever because she has to burst her bubble of happiness. _Their_ bubble of happiness. 

“I think....we have to get back to London.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger. Only two chapters left after this.
> 
> They're already written...and there could be a sequel.
> 
> I hope you liked this.


	8. THE ONE WHERE EVE QUITS

_I would take a whisper if that's all you had to give_

_But it isn't, is it?_

_You could come and save me and try to chase the crazy right out of my head_

_I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming your name_

_Like a fool at the top of my lungs_

_Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm alright_

_But it's never enough_

_Jason Walker - Echo_

  
  


The saying goes: There are two sides to every story.

The saying? Is wrong.

There are usually far more than two sides, points of view the other players in the plot don’t even know about, like the guy at the newsstand who sees you everyday, or the professor you had for biology in college. There are not an infinite number of people who have a point of view on a story, but that’s probably just because there are only a finite number of people. People aren’t infinite; the human species, if scientific history is to believed, probably won’t be infinite, either.

Numbers are the only thing that is infinite.

But that’s really not the point.

The point is that there are more than two sides to every story, more than two versions of the story, and with so many divergent tales, there’s really no way you’ll ever know the truth.

People say all they want to know is the truth.

When people say that?

They’re lying.

Because what they want is the version of the truth that suits them.

Versions of the truth aren’t infinite, either, but they might as well be. It doesn’t matter to a singular person how many versions of the truth there are; they only want the one they want, and the rest are superfluous.

Anyway, this is all a long way of saying:

There are more than two sides to every story.

But to some people, sometimes, it’s only one sides that matters. Theirs.

So, to say that Oksana doesn’t react well to Eve’s request is an understatement. She detaches herself from the older woman like she just burnt herself and stands abruptly, her expression one of pure astonishment and, just as Eve feared, betrayal.

“No. Why would you go back there? We just escaped from there. The bad guys are there, remember?” The blonde whines.

“No Oksana, the bad guys aren’t there. The bad guys are everywhere, and I don’t think I want to live a life where I have to constantly watch my back for straying bullets.” Eve fires back. 

“I thought you liked doing this with me?” The blonde says, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. _Great, now she’s hurt._ Eve thinks.

“I like the part in which we actually do normal things, not the one where we have to kill people to stay alive! You said it yourself, you don’t want to do this anymore. If we keep running we will have to keep doing it over and over again with no resolution in sight! Killing The Twelve’s minions is like fighting an Hydra because for every one of them you kill two others come around.”

“Why did you come with me in the first place then, you could have just stayed in London.” Oksana retorts, arms crossed in a defensive stance. The blonde is now being purposefully obnoxious, not even trying to get Eve’s point of view.

Eve tries again.

“You know what’s Einstein’s definition of insanity is? It’s doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different outcome. We are pretending to avoid the fact that what we are currently doing is insane. We can’t go on like this!”

“What’s your big plan, then?”

“I want _us_ to go back to London, talk to Carolyn and find a way to take The Twelve down.”

“That is ridiculous. And I am not coming with you, so.” Oksana shrugs.

“Well, too bad, because I am going Oksana.” Eve prays that her tone is hard enough, sure enough that the blonde understands that there’s no room for arguments here. Eve is going back to London, with or without her.

They look like two knights facing each other in a duel. 

“We were having a nice time.” Oksana says, defeated.

“We were.” Eve concedes.

“Are you already fed up with me?” 

“No, Oksana, of course not.”

“Then why do you want to leave me?”

Eve is confused at first, and then the realization hits her like a wall of bricks. This is Oksana’s greatest fear, that Eve will find a way to forget her, to leave.

Everyone forgets eventually.

Everyone leaves.

Eve is not going to be that person, but she also needs to get some leverage in this discussion. 

“Oksana, I want to do this for the same reason I accepted to run away with you. Because I _want to be with you_. But I realized that this is not the right way of doing things. We need to get back and fix stuff now that we still can. I don’t want to leave without you but I’m telling you, It’s going to happen if you keep being this stubborn and refuse to listen to me.” Eve doesn’t know what is worse, lying to Oksana about her willingness to leave her or seeing her all wide eyed and scared because she actually believes that’s ever going to happen.

_Quite a pickle you’ve found yourself in_ , Carolyn would say.

“It’s too dangerous.” Oksana says, trying to keep her voice even.

“Having to run like this is the same level of dangerous, if not more. With MI6 and Carolyn we could have at least a modicum of protection. Not to mention information, and tools to help us.” Eve fires back.

“Carolyn doesn’t want my help, I offered and she refused.” 

“You what? When?” 

“Before the ballroom. She said that if I don’t want to kill anymore, then I’m not of any use to her or to MI6. Villanelle is an asset, apparently Oksana is just a liability.” The blonde says the words like there’s a bitter taste in her mouth. Eve reaches out to try and comfort her, but Oksana flinches and takes a step back.

“Please, can we go back to the house and talk this out?” The older woman pleads.

“Sure. Seems to me that there’s not much to discuss, since you already made up your mind.” Oksana fires back.

They walk back to the cottage and Oksana doesn’t take Eve’s hand. She actually keeps her distance, her longer strides making it difficult for Eve to catch up. She basically has to jog to keep up with her. The blonde is upset and Eve prays to every deity she knows that she will be able to fix this before they leave this place. _Together_ , she hopes.

“Come with me.” Eve tries.

Oksana shakes her head, defeated. It’s like all the fight has left her. “I am tired of doing this. I am tired to having to be this. I don’t want to be that person anymore!”

_That_ meant something for her, Eve realizes. Something more than being pretty, or smart, something more than people knowing that she’s brilliant in what she does, something more than becoming the best hired assassin in the world at age 27.

At first, it was enough for her. Because if she was chosen by the best, then that, by implication, also made her the best. That was very important to her.

To be the best.

Because if you are the best at what you do, then you will always have work to do.

Someone will always need to you to do the work.

You see?

Oksana doesn’t see, really, but Eve does: working for the Twelve meant that she was needed. Wanted. Desired. That at least on a professional level, in a meritocracy, she would have proven herself to be the most needed individual in her field.

The most needed.

Until she discovered that they didn’t really need her. That she was disposable. That everyone was disposable and was useful until proven otherwise.

And now Oksana desperately wants out but doesn’t know who she is anymore without it. Because no one’s ever taken the time to just try and understand her, to ask her what she wanted and actually _listen_ to her. They’ve thrown things to her, material things, like a parent who keeps giving its child new toys to compensate the lack of attention, of company, of affection. 

Eve tries to make her point the best that she can, she needs her to understand. 

“Oksana, you are not that person anymore, and you’re not going to get back to being like that. I promise. But whatever fairytale you’re telling yourself we’re in, it’s not going to work out. They will kill us, they will kill the both of us sooner or later. We’re going to run out of money, and bullets, and eventually there will be one time when they will catch up with us and we won’t be prepared.”

“But if we get back to London I will most certainly have to kill people again.” Oksana looks sincerely upset about this. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but that tends to happen also if we don’t get back to London.” 

“Seems like death follows me.” Oksana says, sombre.

“Us. It follows us. And it will keep following us until we don’t do something about it. You know it too.”

“I just wanted to be normal. I wanted to show you that I can be normal.”

“Well, you can show me once this thing is over, I promise. And I am pretty sure you promised me a fancy dinner date, too.” This seems to calm her down a bit. Eve feels like she can breathe a bit more easily now.

“Can I think about it? About London, I mean.” The blonde says. 

“Do you think you can manage that before tomorrow morning?” Eve asks.

“I think so.” Oksana answers, her voice just above a whisper.

“Okay then. Listen, I think I’m going to go for a walk now. I just need some space, to clear my head.” 

Eve knows she has to say something else, anything to make Oksana understand that they’re in this together, that she’s not going to disappear into thin air once the door closes.

“Oksana?”

“Yes?”

“I will come back, you know.”

Oksana nods. “I’ll see you later then.”

“See you later.”

Eve exits the door, but doesn’t make it that much far away. She sits on the stairs of the porch, watches out at the clear, night sky. Exhales. She thinks about Oksana, thinks again of last night and of her pleas and of their kisses.

She thinks of the things that scared her, she thinks of hurting Oksana if she fails at this, if she can’t be what she wants.

It occurs to her that maybe Oksana just wants _her_.

Eve thinks back about Tower Bridge, about why she was _unable to leave her_.

She didn’t leave because of “I feel things when I’m with you.”

She didn’t leave because of “Will you stay for a bit?”

She didn’t leave because they both almost died.

Because she couldn’t handle it.

Because she wants to make Oksana _feel like that_.

Because Oksana looks at Eve like she loves her.

Because Eve loves Oksana back.

She told Oksana at the ruins that she couldn’t possibly love her because she didn’t understand what it was. 

She realizes now that those two things, Understanding and Love, are more than just subsequent to each other.

They are, in fact, symbiotic.

Physics teaches that an object at rest stays at rest unless acted upon by an outside force.

She was at rest, and then she met Oksana, and she set Eve’s body, her mind, her heart into motion and Eve has been spinning around ever since.

And now she must adapt.

She has already adapted.

She sees who she was and she sees who she is and she sees who she is becoming and she understands that she is more capable of change than she thought she was.

Except, to her, it isn’t change; it is evolution.

And that makes all the difference.

She smiles.

She will see Oksana in a little while, and together, they will evolve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my mind in this chapter there was a lot of angst, but I have found out that I LOATHE making them upset.
> 
> At the end it came out like this, I hope you like it.
> 
> Just one chapter left...and it will be the longest.
> 
> As always, kudos and comment are life.


	9. THE ONE WHERE THE AUTHOR ASKS FOR THE READERS’ OPINION

Uhm, so.

I was supposed to post chapter 9 yesterday, but then madness ensued and I decided to wait a bit. Then today the madness continued, so I decided to wait some more? But now I don’t even know if people still want to read it (and the sequel, too.)

So I am asking for your opinion.

Do you want me to finish this? Are you still interested? 

And then, if I do post the epilogue for this fic, would you still be interested in a sequel?

Please give me feedback on this, I am feeling really lost right now and I just hope things will be back to normal because I am really fucking tired of all the hateful things I’m reading online.

Understanding and compassion should be pillars of our society and a person is innocent until proven otherwise (even if I am not really sure about WHAT EXACTLY said person should be sorry for right now? I mean, we ff writers recount tales of love (mostly) and I am currently reading so many wrong things that my head is spinning and I wonder if any of the people currently spreading hate do really understand WHAT loving someone actually means for the parties involved.)

I mean, we actively stan a couple of psycho murderous wives. Duh. 

Anyway. Hit me with the comments!

Lots of love

A.


	10. THE ONE WITH THE PROPOSAL

_But high up above or down below_

_When you are too in love to let it go_

_But if you never try you'll never know_

_Just what you're worth_

_Lights will guide you home_

_And ignite your bones_

_And I will try to fix you_

_Fix You - Coldplay_

  
  


Eve stays on the steps of the porch until the air starts to bite at her cheeks and she can’t stand the cold anymore. She wonders what has Oksana been up to while she went away. She could have gone to bed, waiting for her. She could have sat on the sofa, back to reading the book Eve’s sure she has already finished that afternoon but that she will pretend to find interesting while feigning boredom for Eve’s time away from her.

Oksana is not doing either things when Eve walks back in. She’s sat at the kitchen table, the two guns at their disposal laid down before her. She’s cleaning them with the expertise of someone whose job required it daily. Her nimble fingers are working steadily and precisely, almost like a reflex. She doesn’t turn when she hears Eve walk in. Eve discards her sweatshirt and walks to her. She puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey.” Eve tries.

Oksana visibly steels herself. She exhales and turns to Eve, slowly. Her eyes betray nothing. She’s wearing one of her personas, Eve realizes. 

“I told you I was going to be back.” She says, gently. She squeezes her shoulder for emphasis.

The blonde swallows, then shakes her head a little. Her eyes are now wet. Whoever greeted Eve is now gone, and Oksana is back in her place.

“That doesn’t happen very often with me, you know.” She admits in a whisper.

Eve forgets sometimes, what with all of Oksana’s disguises and all of that flair, that she is so, so heartbreakingly human.

She is Villanelle, world class assassin for hire, lover of all the finest things in life, ego the size of Russia, rude, unapologetic and so, so cocky. But she is also Oksana, daughter of a disgraced mother, sister to a boy who loves Elton John, a girl who likes to have her hair petted and her lips kissed, her skin touched. Her body held. A girl who knows pain, and hurt, and loneliness. A girl who knows what’s like to be left, to be discarded, to be forgotten. She’s one of the realest humans Eve has ever known.

Oksana is in front of her, defiant and beautiful and feeling so _right,_ and Eve sees the humanity coursing through her veins, pumping in even rhythm through both of their hearts. She could never, _ever_ leave her, Eve realizes. Not on purpose. She means to say this to her, to tell her that she will discard whatever plan of taking down the Twelve she had concocted in her head for the sake of them being together for whatever amount of time will be granted them, but the blonde beats her and speaks first, rising up from the chair.

“I thought about it. I will come with you.” There’s a weight to her words, to her tone, like every word has been ripped from the depths of her throat by force.

“Wait, what? Really?” Eve wasn’t expecting that. 

“I really can’t let you do that alone. You’ll be dead in no time, and I prefer you to be alive.” Oksana shrugs while she says the words, but Eve knows better than that.

“So that’s it? You’re coming to babysit me? Don’t you trust my abilities?” Eve prods on. 

“Yes. That and also I don’t want to leave you. I have thought about it, and I have come to the conclusion that I very much prefer a life full of danger with you in it than a boring one without you.”

“I feel exactly the same.” Eve replies. She wants to say something else, but Oksana beats her once again to it, her words rushed like she has to say them before she is unable to. 

“Maybe I don’t understand what love is. But I can promise you that I will not flinch. I will not waver. I will not back down. I am here and I want to be with you and I will help you with the Twelve and with whatever else you need and I will try and be the best version of me that I can until the universe takes the last breath from me. I can promise you that. So I am yours, if you’ll have me.” Her voice is unsteady and there are tears in her eyes, and a single one rolls down her cheek, leaving a wet trail.

Eve has never _felt_ like this in her entire life. All because of _her_ and because of a _them_ that she is only beginning to understand, a _them_ powerful enough and precious enough to reverse whatever brainwashing Oksana had been put through and made Villanelle rise, powerful enough to allow human emotions to overcome her assassin brain and make her wear her heart on her sleeve. For Eve. With Eve.

She thinks back at that moment on Tower Bridge. When Oksana was willing to let her go and never look back because Eve wanted to make whatever was between them stop. _I was a fool,_ Eve thinks. Because she realizes in that moment that Oksana does indeed understand what love is, and she was willing to put everything in a box in order to let Eve live the life she wanted. The life she _thought_ she wanted. 

But it was right then, that moment, when they started accepting not just that they were attracted to one another, but that they really had the capacity to _understand_ one another. They weren’t entirely sure yet that they liked each other, not all the way, but understanding one another? Well, that’s a whole other ballgame. Because when you understand someone, when you know they understand you, too, there’s a far bigger risk than just liking them. People wander through life, hoping for one second they can connect with someone so clearly, so cleanly, that it’s something beyond friendship, or attraction, something so complete. It’s _understanding_ that people want more than anything else.

Especially people like the two of them.

Oksana will suffer more than anyone if anything happens to Eve and Eve thinks she’s never been more selfish or more honest in the entire time she’s known her. It’s frustrating and difficult and mad and she doesn’t know what to do about it because Oksana’s crying and Eve hates it when she cries.

Eve tilts her head up and looks into the blonde’s face. There they were: the faint spattering of freckles across her nose and cheekbones, something she only noticed when she was inches away. Before she can think twice, Eve stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips against Oksana’s; a peck that doesn't last for more than a second but makes her heart race regardless because of its hidden meaning. Sitting back on her heels, Eve bowes her head and looks at her feet. Her nerves are catching up with her actions and an unsettling feeling coils in the pit of her stomach. It’s shame. Shame for not having given the blonde credit enough, for having failed to recognize her own feelings. For not being able to vocalize them and tell Oksana that yes, Eve’s unequivocally hers, she has been for a long time.

The blonde puts her finger underneath Eve’s chin, forcing her head up to look at her. There is something so completely serious and intense in her expression, like she’s trying to get into Eve’s brain. Her thumb brushes across Eve’s bottom lip, and Eve opens her eyes. She didn’t even realize she had closed them. There is a heat in Oksana’s gaze that Eve has never seen before. Time seems to suspend itself as they stare at each other. Eve can smell the perfume the blonde’s wearing, hear the rustling of the wind outside, feel the warmth that’s emanating from the other woman’s body. It all becomes too overwhelming. Eve feels like she has vertigo, so she takes a step backwards to get her bearings. 

Oksana grabs the front of Eve’s shirt in her fist, yanking the other woman against her. Bending her head, she covers her mouth with Eve’s. She catches her mid-breath, and it takes Eve a moment to process what’s happening. Once she does she quickly finds herself kissing her back, hard and fast and bruising. Oksana’s hands wove themselves once again into Eve’s hair. Frantically, Eve tries to lift the blonde’s sweatshirt up, wanting to get as close as possible to her. Lips leaving hers for just a second, Oksana quickly helps Eve, and the sweatshirt falls onto the floor, leaving the blonde in a black fitted tank top. Gripping her hips with both hands, the younger woman throws Eve back into the fridge. A few of the magnets attached to it clatter to the ground. Oksana presses against Eve to the point where Eve has to fight for breath. She doesn’t care. Breathing isn't important right now. Eve wraps her arms around the blonde’s neck, deepening the kiss as much as she can.

The blonde’s mouth is so warm, and she tastes faintly of mint. She must have brushed her teeth. Eve can't get enough. Oksana’s hands slid underneath Eve’s t-shirt, her touch fiery hot against Eve’s skin. Eve thinks she means to wrap her arm around her, but then she touches a sensitive spot on Eve’s lower back, and Eve makes a sound and involuntarily arches into her. The blonde freezes for a second, and then brushes over that spot again, like she’s testing out a theory. Shivers go up Eve’s spine and she jerks against her again, breaking the kiss and inhaling sharply. The corners of Oksana’s mouth curve into a smile. Roaming up Eve’s back, lifting the shirt as she goes, the blonde’s hands caresses Eve’s sides, up her stomach, and then cup her breasts. There’s a sound, low and deep in Oksana’s throat, as she runs her thumbs over the other woman’s nipples. That sends a jolt through Eve’s veins, and her head falls back. The blonde kisses Eve’s exposed neck. They are breathing heavily now. 

Running her hands over the blonde’s shoulders and back, Eve struggles with her tank top. Oksana doesn’t seem to have the patience for that, though, and forces Eve’s legs open with a knee. One hand runs from her breast down to the waistband of her pants, and Eve lets go of the hem she was holding to press her palms against Oksana’s chest. Watching her face, the blonde drops her hand further down, popping open the button of Eve’s pants and easing her hand inside.

"Oh," Eve lets out shakily. She closes her eyes in anticipation. When Oksana touches her, she makes a small sound at the sensation, Eve’s fingers clutching at the fabric of her top. Eve’s legs threaten to give out, but the blonde has her pinned securely against the fridge. She’s doing something amazing with her hand, and Eve thinks she’s going to hyperventilate. Oksana keeps hitting a spot that sends shocks down Eve’s body. 

"Oksana" Eve whispers. The blonde kisses Eve then, and Eve actually finds it hard to concentrate on kissing her back. It doesn't take long for an ache to start building down below, and her hips rise to meet the movements of the other woman’s hand. _She knows what she’s doing. God, she knows exactly what she’s doing_ , Eve’s brain supplies. All of a sudden, the tension breaks and Eve cries out against her mouth, holding onto the blonde tightly as the spasms rock her body. Her face feels hot. Her whole body feels hot. _Thank God she has me pinned because my legs are jelly_ , Eve manages to think. 

When Eve gets her bearings again, she winds her hands into blonde locks and kisses Oksana fiercely. Heart rate skyrocketing, Eve crushes her hips against the blonde’s, letting her know that she wants more, needs more, that they’re nowhere near finished. 

"God, Eve," the blonde groans against Eve’s mouth. She doesn't delay in reaching around, cupping her butt and lifting Eve off the ground. Eve wraps her legs around her waist, her arms around the blonde’s neck and her head bent to make sure their lips doesn’'t part. Oksana kisses her against the fridge for a moment, but it then soon becomes too intense for that. Walking out of the kitchen, she turns the corner, headed into the hallway, and kicks open the half-open door of the bedroom. She sets Eve down on the floor, and Eve immediately grabs the hem of her top, yanking it up and taking it finally off of her. Oksana responds by reaching down and pulling Eve’s own t-shirt up over her head. She tosses it on the ground. Eve then fumbles with the buckle of the blonde’s belt, and then with the button of her pants. Oksana quickly kicks off her shoes, and Eve pushes down the other woman’s pants, revealing a pair of simple black cotton underwear. Overcome with the urge to get her completely naked, Eve tugs the item down in one swift move. She doesn’t have time to do anything else because then Oksana picks her up and literally throws her onto the bed. Eve lets out a surprised squeal, and the blonde descends on top of her instantly. She lowers her mouth to Eve’s again, expertly taking off her pants and underwear in the meanwhile. She lets her hands run up Eve’s thighs, her hips, her sides, her breasts. Eve does the same, smoothing her hands over her shoulders, down her arms, her back. It’s like they’re feverishly trying to memorize each other's bodies. Eve’s entire body is covered in goosebumps. Her hips buck involuntarily when Oksana nips Eve’s skin with her teeth. When Eve begins to quiver with need, when her hands are shaking, she manages to rasp "Oksana." in the blonde’s ear.

She looks at Eve then, her eyes flashing with something unmistakable. She kisses her way to Eve’s neck, and then starts her journey down, kissing every inch of skin she finds in her path. Somehow, when the blonde reaches her destination, Eve is unprepared. She gasps out loud, her back arching off the bed. Her hips rise and match the speed of the blonde’s mouth on her. Eve is under no illusion that this is going to be long and sweet. Oksana breaks away from Eve for a moment, staring down at her, her expression positively primal, her pupils blown out. Eve reaches down and runs her hands over the curve of Oksana’s scalp, gripping it firmly. The other woman takes the hint, smirks and gets back to the task at hand. _God, it feels so good._ It’s all Eve can think. She must have voiced that out loud though, because suddenly the blonde _growls_ against her. As if unable to restrain herself any longer, Oksana then adds her fingers to the equation and increases her pace, eliciting sounds from Eve that she’s positive she has never made before. Heat rushes up in her, and sweat breaks out along her spine. The tell tale ache begins to form, and each stroke threatens to shatter her into tiny pieces.

"Oksana" Eve breathes. The blonde doesn't slow down, not one bit. Eve’s fingernails rake up her back. It’s too much.

"Oksana" She pants. "Oh, God —" Her body shudders, waves rocking through her. They don't stop, either. Eve feels them all the way to her toes. After a couple of moments the blonde lets out a shaky breath against Eve’s skin, then makes her journey back up and shudders with her head in the crook of Eve’s neck, like _she_ is the one overwhelmed. Her breath is hot against Eve’s skin, her muscles tight underneath Eve’s hands. They are both breathing heavily. She doesn't move, and Eve trails her hands up the blonde’s back and hold onto her shoulders. Her own heart is still pounding frantically.

  
  


Unexpectedly, Oksana laughs softly in Eve’s ear. 

"You know," Eve manages to mumble into her skin, "laughter isn't really what a girl wants to hear at a time like this." 

Slowly, the blonde lifts her head. Those eyes, a vibrant green at the moment, sweep over Eve’s face. "Sorry," she says with a small smile, adding somewhat sheepishly, "It's just that my imagination didn't even come close to…that." 

"Oh, so you've imagined that before, huh?" Eve teases lightly. 

"Like you haven't?" she counters. Eve smiles. She scans Oksana’s face, taking in her flushed cheeks, the disheveled hair, the absolutely besotted look in her eyes. Eve has never seen her like this, and she has never felt like this either. Her own smile falters, and she feels vulnerable all of a sudden. Maybe Oksana senses that because she untangles a hand from Eve’s hair and brushes her knuckles against her cheekbone. Eve closes her eyes, exhaling. The blonde keeps tracing her fingers down the curve of Eve’s jaw, over her lips, and back up again. After a few moments, Oksana rolls off of Eve, covers both of them with the sheets bunched at the end of the bed, then turns and gathers Eve once again into her arms. Eve is more relieved than she should when Oskana kisses her temple and lets out a contented sigh. With her cheek pressed against the blonde’s, Eve breathes in the scent of her skin.

"There’s no turning back if we get back to London" The blonde says softly. Eve turns her face into the other woman’s hair.

"No," Eve replies. "There isn't." She presses closer to Oksana, and the blonde tightens her arms around Eve.

After a couple of minutes, it’s Eve’s voice again that resounds in the bedroom.

“Me too.” Eve says, looking up and into Oksana’s eyes.

“You too what?” The blonde answers, sheepishly. There’s a twinkle in her eye though, like she knows what’s coming. 

“I am yours too, you dick. If you’ll have me, of course.” Eve retorts.

“I will. I do. I do.” Oksana whispers, rushed, and then lowers her head to kiss her some more just for good measure.

“Good.” Eve says once the separate, still out of breath.

There’s a moment of pause, and then:

“Eve?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s take down those motherfuckers.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you all for your kind responses to yesterday's inquiry.
> 
> As promised, here's the epilogue. I hope it makes justice to this story.
> 
> Stay tuned for more...


End file.
